


King of Nothing at All

by tiggeryumyum



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Top Hinata Shouyou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 16:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16044656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiggeryumyum/pseuds/tiggeryumyum
Summary: Oikawa will never be happy. At least not if he's in charge of making it happen.





	King of Nothing at All

"Whew. Look at that."

"You can see all the way to Sumida River." 

Matsukawa and Hanamaki admire the view from Oikawa's new patio, and Oikawa admires the view of them admiring the view, preening. 

"It's the second tallest building in Tokyo," Oikawa says. "There's a helicopter pad on the roof – "

"How much a month?"

It is an appallingly rude question for Iwaizumi to ask, and the only reason he can get away with it is because he gave up five weekends this summer to help Oikawa find an apartment in the city, before throwing his hands up at what he referred to as Oikawa's _shitty pointless picky ass_ , and leaving it to him. He knew about Oikawa's budget, and how he wanted three rooms, and a view, and it had to be pet friendly, with a washer in the apartment, and pool, and a few other very minor but still essential specifications. 

"Not too much," Oikawa smiles. 

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. "Right."

"My agent renegotiated my contract this season anyway," Oikawa says. "I can afford it."

"When are the movers coming?" Hanamaki asks.

"Tomorrow," Oikawa says. He was too eager to wait, though, wanting to show off the space as soon as he got his hands on the keys. There's a few chairs, some utensils and plates, toilet paper, and a bedmat, but otherwise the place is a large, hollow, empty outline of an apartment. He gives them the tour, his voice echoing in each empty room, going on indulgently about his plans for each one, until he senses they've lost patience with his flaunting, and they go out to celebrate. 

First it's just a meal, but everyone is in a good mood, and it goes by faster than they were expecting. They linger at the table with their empty plates in front of them, puffing new life into each conversation when it starts to wind down to a finish. Then Iwaizumi orders a drink, and the game is on.

Oikawa drinks. More than usual, because why not? Not only is it the weekend, but Oikawa's season is finally over, and also, his new apartment is only just down the street. 

Blurry eyed and giddy by the end of the night, he's helped back to his apartment by Hanamaki, who is uncharacteristically short. Upon closer inspection it turns out the body helping him off the elevator and unlocking his door is actually Iwaizumi. This realization is hilarious and has him laughing as Iwaizumi pushes him toward his bedroom.

"Hey," Oikawa says. "Hey, remember when you said I wouldn't be happy even – when I was old?"

"Yeah," Iwaizumi grunts. He's down by Oikawa's feet, helping him with his shoes. 

"But look at that _view_ ," Oikawa says, pointing toward the window of his bedroom. "You can see _Sumida River_."

"Guess you proved me wrong," he says.

Oikawa pauses, his mind moving in slow motion as it tries to work out Iwaizumi's tone. Once he does, he decides that Iwaizumi was not being sarcastic, and is pleased. 

"Yeah, I did," he says. There's silence. Oikawa opens eyes he had shut in concentration, and realizes he must have missed Iwaizumi leaving. He is alone in his apartment. Frowning, suddenly very angry, Oikawa pushes his phone off the mat to the floor, and says it, louder. " _Yeah_ , I _did!_ "

~

Oikawa had planned on waking around nine, eating breakfast, taking his boasting online by way of pictures on his social profiles, then picking up a cash tip on his way back from lunch, so he'd have something to give the movers when they arrived in the early afternoon. 

The reality is Oikawa waking to a knock at the door at two pm, so miserably hungover that the kid on the other side has to repeat why he's there twice.

"We have your stuff in the van, Oikawa-san," the mover says, for a third time, and it finally clicks.

" _Right_ , right," Oikawa says, stepping aside, so a line of movers can walk in. "Right – okay, good, okay – uh."

Oikawa flounders for a moment, but they don't need much guidance. With obviously practiced and polished grace, once he points to a desired home for an object, the movers start their coordinated routine, padding off his walls, carrying in the endless boxes of belongings they carted over from his mother's home, stacking and organizing and slotting everything cleanly away.

Oikawa watches in a bit of a daze, possibly still drunk, then remembers the tip. 

"I'll be right back," he says.

" _Hai!_ " all of them chorus at once, giving Oikawa a sudden slap of deja vu of being in Aoba Johsai's gym.

In an oversized sweater, hair a mess, feeling more like a creature than man, Oikawa hurries across the parking lot.

"Oikawa-san!" 

Oikawa stops – the voice is familiar, and coming from the moving truck. 

Oikawa looks over his shoulder, and sees the familiar bright shock of orange hair. 

Hinata Shoyo, wearing the mover uniform, complete with the bright blue gloves and a hat, is standing on a ladder, in the middle of hoisting up Oikawa's mattress.

"Nice season!" Hinata says, and doesn't seem self-conscious whatsoever. He doesn't try to hide what he's doing, doesn't even pause in the act, in fact, passing off a large box of Oikawa's belongings to the next mover in line. "I really thought you had the cup in the bag!"

"So did I," Oikawa murmurs. He makes another attempt to straighten his hair, and tries to think of anything polite to say that's not a horrified _you work for a moving company??_ "Living in Tokyo?"

"Yeah," Hinata says. "Three years ago, I – "

"Shoyo!" a short, older man says sharply from the truck.

"Right, sorry!" Hinata says, and gets back to work. Oikawa watches a beat longer, Hinata in his place, in the row of organized ants, each tiny and insignificant alone, but through practice and teamwork, hoisting Oikawa's entire bedroom through a thirty story window. 

Oikawa feels a little dazed as he wanders off to get his cash.

A _mover?_ Hinata seems happy, too, he even called out to Oikawa when he would've gone unnoticed otherwise, apparently unashamed to be seen at this job. Oikawa tries to school his reaction down to something neutral, but can't. It's probably the most offensive reaction Oikawa can have, but.

He feels pity. 

There aren't many people who take the game as seriously as Oikawa, and the ones who do stick out in Oikawa's memory with a hot, fierce energy. Kageyama is one, and so is Hinata. After all his hard work, all his ambitions – after polishing that skill sharp enough to cut Oikawa back – a _mover_ , of all things – 

But then, did he have much of a choice? Hinata Shoyo had three seasons on reserve with the Sunbirds. He played in six games that Oikawa knows of – never against Oikawa. Technically speaking, he was probably one of the best to play the game, but with that body, it still only left him barely breaking even with the giants he played against. He had an edge of surprise, and his coach used that, until the surprise stopped working, and Hinata retired.

Did Oikawa expect him to fade to sepia, freeze-framed there in a bittersweet ending? Hinata probably has an apartment he has to pay for, too.

Feeling unsettled, Oikawa reminds himself of the many differences between himself and Hinata. Oikawa is tall. Oikawa has a contract. Oikawa has gone from a promising rookie to an integral part of his team, he's mapped out the rhythm of the current roster, is invited to come along when the coaches head out for drinks, and has agreed to three sponsorship deals. Reporters have gone from asking for group statements at the end of each game to asking for _Oikawa Tooru's_ thoughts in particular.

Volleyball will not be taken away from Oikawa, he reminds himself. 

He returns to his apartment to find the movers wiping down the counters and cabinets and bookshelf. He hands out the tips, says his thanks, and closes the door behind them.

~

"Oikawa-san, hi – "

"Ikki-chan!" Oikawa says, in a good mood, which is only enhanced by hearing from his agent. "Good morning! Did you finalize the contract? Is it ready for me to sign?"

"Haa, not quite," Ikejiri says. He sounds nervous and it puts Oikawa on immediate alert. "They sent a new draft, the numbers are a little lower than what you were hoping for."

"How much lower?" Oikawa pouts.

"Well – I was calling to go over it with you," Ikejiri says. He runs down the numbers, the conditions and offers and concessions they're willing to make, and when they get to Oikawa's new salary, Oikawa frowns childishly, because he can, because no one is around to see him being a brat.

"The salary is a dealbreaker," Oikawa says. "No matter what. The rest – we can talk about, but let them know that about the salary!"

"I – are you sure?"

Oikawa raises an eyebrow. It's not like Ikijeri to be this timid. Oikawa doesn't want a timid agent. "Do you think I shouldn't be?"

"No – well. I'll try my best."

"Of course you will," Oikawa says, and has no choice but to believe it. He already got the apartment. He already moved in. He's already grown addicted to the glamorous lifestyle it provides. Downgrading now would be unthinkable, he's already sacrificed too many years of his youth with a bedroom in his mother's home, even if it was just during the off seasons.

It takes a few months for Oikawa and Ikijeri to conclude this conversation, and in this time preseason training begins, like it did the year before, in a gymnasium that's shared with several local teams. 

Oikawa eyes the players who have already arrived, the familiar faces of his own team, the equally familiar faces of old rivals, and the faces he's only seen through articles and video, newbies. 

Kageyama is there, but if he notices Oikawa he doesn't make any indication of it, focused on his own warm up stretches in the corner. On reflex, Oikawa is eying Kageyama's form, seeking out weaknesses, and comparing it to his own. This evaluation is cut short by a surprised gasp of his name.

"Oikawa!" 

It's one of the managers, eyebrows high on his face in open alarm.

"Something wrong?" Oikawa asks.

"One moment," he says.

A manager from the back is brought out, he pulls Oikawa to the side, and quietly advises that Oikawa's membership for the gym was not approved by his team, because he is not on the roster this year.

Oikawa is confused, laughing at the absurdity, but the manager's face stays grim.

So Oikawa calls his agent. 

"What do you _mean_ ," Oikawa's control dissolves rapidly, his calm tone quickly escalating to an enraged shout. "You didn't renew my contract?!" 

"I – I tried to renegotiate," Ikejiri, his agent, stutters out. "You said you wanted – more money, and the portion of the ad revenue, new draft approval, like you wanted, but – they wouldn't take it – "

"So you decided to _break my contract?!_ " 

The noise he produced feels loud enough to shake the building, and the players in the attached gym react as though it did. He looks up and sees the entire gym is watching this meltdown, but doesn't have it in him to care. His entire body is inflamed, engulfed in rage, he is burning alive, and is as powerless to stop it as anyone else there.

"Y-you said dealbreaker – "

"You – you – " Oikawa lets out a string of swears so rude and creative he hears a gasp.

"I can fix it – "

" _You!_ " Oikawa laughs in manic fury. "You will not – do _anything_ in my name again! You are fired, you – you – "

"Oikawa-san," this voice comes from outside the phone. Real life. 

Oikawa looks up and sees Kageyama there. Rather that horrified or scared, he looks confused, and mildly concerned. Unsettled. He's the only one brave enough to approach, and even he seems to be coming at him as though Oikawa is a wild animal, likely to attack, slow and cautious. Kageyama's eyes dart to the door, then back to Oikawa, in confusion. Like he can't figure out why Oikawa would do this in public, when there's privacy just four steps away.

It's his honest inability to understand Oikawa's emotion, the need to express it here and now, that brings Oikawa back down. 

"You are fired," he says again into the phone, calmly, and hangs up. Then he picks up his bag and leaves.

~

A mid-season offer isn't _unheard_ of, but it's also not something Oikawa has any control over. The agents he seeks help with say it's nothing they can do either. 

"At this point for anything to change, they'd reach out to you," Nakamashi says. "Hounding about it won't be a great look, especially after – that. I think you're stuck waiting for next draft season, Tooru."

Oikawa listens to this with his palms pressed against his eyes, groaning steadily, quietly, though it's nothing surprising.

Thankfully, Ikejiri didn't ruin Oikawa's sponsorships, which are still valid, and enough to live off of, if Oikawa is smart about it. 

Frugal.

"Oikawa-san," says the mover at his door, bright orange hair, hardly contained under a bright blue hat. 

"Hinata," Oikawa says. After it's out of his mouth, he thinks that might be the first time he's said his actual name out loud. 

He steps aside, and Hinata leads the rest of the movers inside his glamorous apartment, and they begin their practiced, polished dance, lifting the pictures off the wall, wrapping the plates, sorting the books and tucking away the clothes.

Oikawa watches, arms crossed. They are quiet and respectful at first, but as the day goes on, they grow accustomed to the space and more comfortable with each other. 

Hinata is obviously friends with the rest of the crew, they laugh quietly together, they call him _Sho-kun_ and _Sho-chan_. 

Hinata is happy. He is genuinely happy. Oikawa can see it in his face. This is not an act.

The pity he felt before morphs, rotting to disgust. Annoyance. Watching the smile on Hinata's face, how could he be happy with this? Considering what he had? What he lost? 

The movers carry off the last of his belongings, and Oikawa stands there in his empty, outline of an apartment, staring at the skyline. He can see Sumida River, Hanamaki was right, but he can also see Tokyo Tower, and secretly he'd been a little put out that none of them had mentioned it.

That night he goes to bed in his newer, smaller, cheaper, much more reasonable apartment. 

_How weak_ , is one of his last, semi-coherent thoughts of the day as his body relaxes into sleep. _How weak of Hinata to be happy._

~

The timeline of Oikawa's life is measured in terms of volleyball. Events bracketed by _working on his falling dive_ and _preparing for spring high_. His mother will ask which of Oikawa's birthdays they spent at the beach, and Oikawa will remember _the first tournament at Aoba Johsai_ before his age. 

He associates his the end of his last season with an especially warm summer, with meeting Iwaizumi's new girlfriend, hearing his newest favorite song. Now he has a year ahead of him, at least, with no finishing bracket in sight. No notable events to orient his life or give it significant purpose.

What if there is none? What if that was the last notable event of his life, passing by without his knowledge? What if he never plays again, what is he supposed to fit in that space? What is he supposed to do? 

Oikawa wakes in the middle of the night in a stranger's home – except it's his blanket pooled at his waist, his pictures framed on the wall. 

Oh. He moved. 

He's in his new apartment. 

This realization should calm him down, but he feels his heart racing faster, faster, like it's about to explode out of his chest, and he leans forward in bed, breathing hard and fast, until he's basically gulping air in.

Fear is a painful, stinging sensation, traveling up his arms, up his neck, and he tries to escape this feeling by stumbling out of bed, to the bathroom, but it's not any easier in there than it was in his bedroom.

He's shaking, his body is falling apart, he doesn't know what's going on, and some part of his mind accepts the inevitable truth: he is dying. He will be dead by morning.

He must black out, because he wakes curled up on the couch in the living room several hours later. 

He sits up, feeling shaky, but sane, going over the last night in his memory in slow, fascinated horror.

A panic attack. An actual panic attack. 

He gets out his phone and holds his thumb over the keys, wanting to send a text to Iwaizumi, presumably, but just – someone, he wants some kind of connection, and Iwaizumi is the default. But he actually doesn't want Iwaizumi to know this.

Iwaizumi had volleyball taken away from him, and it hurt, but he withstood it. The only way Oikawa could come to him with this limping injury is if he was playing it up as a joke, for Iwaizumi to shake some sense into him. But the wound is too real and that would hurt too deeply. 

He does end up sending a text, though.

 **Me** :  
would you rather fight 100 duck sized horses or 1 horsed sized duck

Iwaizumi must sense some of the distress in the message, maybe because of the hour it was sent. His answer is surprisingly humoring and whimsical.

 **Iwaizumi** :  
The duck  
but only if I get to ride it if I win

~

"You know this could be a blessing in disguise," his mother says. "You could use this time to focus on finding the right girl."

"That is an idea," Oikawa agrees, lightly.

"Unless you already have one~?" his mother's leading tone makes this clear she thinks this is a real possibility. Oikawa makes a noise of disbelief, and his mother huffs on the other line of the phone. "Please, Tooru. You were always dating in high school! And such an attentive boyfriend, too. I really did think you'd be settled down by now… "

The conversation ends with his mother still sure that he's keeping a girlfriend secretly tucked away somewhere in the city. The truth would probably make her hair curl.

As a high schooler Oikawa did enjoy dating, and he was a very loyal and devoted boyfriend – as far as volleyball would allow.

But the gaping, open the hole that's been ripped open, that he used to keep fed on a steady diet of ambitions for practices and tournaments, is still there, and demanding more, but Oikawa has run out of things to feed it. It needs more than just one girl, one relationship, can provide.

He doesn't have the gigantic playboy bathroom anymore, but it's still a respectable size, and he certainly doesn't get any complaints about his bed. 

Or couch. Or counter. 

Iwaizumi's face creases in both disgust and pain as he slowly yanks a piece of delicate, shiny fabric from the cushion beside him, until he finally tugs it free, revealing a bra. 

"Seriously?" he asks, as the garment dangles, bright, shameless red, from his fingers. 

Oikawa shrugs. 

"How long are you planning to keep this up?" Iwaizumi asks. "Until you knock someone up or get a disease?"

"So vulgar, Iwa-chan," Oikawa says. "I use protection."

"And never make mistakes," Iwaizumi glares, dropping the bra to the floor in disgust, kicking it away. "Get your head out of your ass."

Oikawa tells him if his head was in his ass, it would get in the way of at least half his sexual encounters, and this ends up escalating to one of the biggest fights he and Iwaizumi have ever had.

Iwaizumi leaves in a disgusted, irritated huff, and Oikawa knows he was not being fair. 

Iwaizumi has never been a talker. In fights, Oikawa usually does him the courtesy of going along with what Iwaizumi means to say, but can't quite get out. Today Iwaizumi was concerned, but Oikawa wasn't feeling merciful enough to acknowledge it, picking away pedantically to avoid the truth.

It is getting close, at least, to out of control. 

Oikawa's bringing home different partners three times a week, and if he has anything close to a routine in his life at the moment, it is fucking strangers, when it used to be work outs and scrimmages with his old university team, jogging and lifts. 

None of those things fill the gaping hole inside him, now. In fact, it only makes it hungrier. That is ultimately the issue that needs to be addressed, and one that Oikawa is still actively avoiding that very weekend. 

He's making a solo trip down to one of the more hectic clubs he visits, and the particular build of a man catches his eye – wide in the shoulders, trim in the middle. 

He's short, probably shorter than Iwaizumi, but with the same solid, compact muscle. Oikawa is so taken with his body in the tight shirt and jeans, and the lights are so dark, he's able to check him out for quite some time before another pass of the spotlight over the audience shines on bright orange hair. 

Oikawa literally chokes on his drink, coughing hard. 

The aroused interest turns to something sharp and horrified, almost violating – _Hinata??_

It's clear what the physical demands of his job have done for his body, which is one of an adult, a man, not the skinny-armed, ball of freakish energy Oikawa remembers him as, and the loose movers uniform had allowed him to continue to imagine.

Oikawa turns his back on him, and drinks a bit more, and then a bit more, enough that the bartender who knows Oikawa as a regular starts giving him looks of concern. But Oikawa needs help coping with this realization – that Hinata's ass and thighs are so tight and frame so well in jeans it makes Oikawa want to bite at his palm. 

But why not? Really, why not? Oikawa runs over the number of other partners he's brought home in recent memory, and he's certainly done worse. Hinata is good looking, he's getting considering looks from both men and women, and this, combined with a hefty amount of alcohol, soothes Oikawa's pride enough to finally act. 

"Hey. Little number ten."

Hinata's reaction to Oikawa's voice seems almost involuntarily – he whirls around, blinking twice, before his eyes widen in surprise. Oikawa grins, pleased with this response, more sure of what he wants tonight, but when he stands up from the stool he wobbles, alcohol hitting all at once.

"Whoa! You alright??" Hinata asks, hurrying over. 

"Fine – great, fine," Oikawa says, more embarrassed than anything, shaking away Hinata's attempts to help stabilize him, wanting to show that he can stand on his own two feet. 

What Oikawa had assumed to be a group of Hinata's friends turn out to be strangers – or, Oikawa supposes, Hinata's "newest friends" – and he quickly leaves them to join Oikawa at the bar.

It's too loud to really talk – Hinata asks something about how Oikawa likes this place, and Oikawa says it's expensive but alright, but Hinata's confused expression makes him sure one of them misheard something. But the body language between them is going loud and clear – Hianta's eyes, continually dropping to Oikawa's legs, his ass, and Oikawa's, traveling the line of muscle in Hinata's arm, the proud swell of it as he flexes. Oikawa licks his lip, getting ready to ask if Hinata wants to find somewhere quieter.

"Hey, wanna send me some tosses?" Hinata asks, voice and eyes bright as the idea occurs to him. 

"What?" Oikawa asks.

"It's too loud here!" Hinata says. "We should do some spike practice!"

He mimes it, as though this clarifies anything.

Whatever, Hinata's right. It's too loud in there. Maybe this is some bizarro pick up line he uses. But they leave the bar, and the quieter place Hinata directs them toward is indeed a gym. 

It's quiet inside, lights bright enough for mild nausea to wash over Oikawa before his stomach settles. It only gets worse once Hinata rolls out the cart of volleyballs.

"Wait – no, wait," Oikawa says. This is not the mindless fucking he wanted, not at all.

"We can just toss it back and forth," Hinata says, cajolingly, plucking one of the balls.

"No, I don't – " but the ball is arching toward him and instinct takes over. He clasps his hands together for the receive, sending it back.

They hit the ball back and forth, the rhythm of it a soothing, hypnoitic thing to his intoxicated mind. 

The next morning he remembers Hinata's voice, seemingly disembodied as it echoes through the gym, saying something about wanting to hit the grand king's toss, and Oikawa obliging, and even happy to do so. 

The familiar weight of the ball against his fingertips, tossing it into the air, the motions are enough to make him happy, even if the end result is wild and high – Oikawa winces, imaging what Iwaizumi would have to say about such a shitty offering, which Hinata springs into the air, and slams it over the net. 

Oikawa blinks, dazed, as Hinata lands again, smile on his face. He's not nearly as rusty as Oikawa thought he'd be. He must be playing in a rec league. Is that enough to make him happy, Oikawa's drunk mind wonders. _Would that be enough to make me happy… ?_

The nausea returns, and Oikawa's memory cuts to stumbling onto the steps of the gym, puking into the bushes, Hinata's hand on his back.

Oikawa remembers his mouth moving, while his eyes are shut. His words are sad and angry, but it's not the raging fire Oikawa usually reaches. It's childlike and weak. Sniffling. Pathetic. Hinata's hand is on his back. Oikawa sniffles again, and his clearest memory of the night, the thing he wakes up still thinking about the next day is, _Oh yeah. He wanted to fuck Hinata._

~

Oikawa wakes up in his bed, and Hinata wakes up on Oikawa's couch. 

Oikawa glares down at him in confusion, piecing together the night before, trying to reconstruct the events that happened in the hours that Oikawa's mind can only recall a long, black space. 

Just how embarrassed he should be. 

Hinata is turned on his side, and his shoulders are hitched up in sleep, like he's realized the limited amounted of space he's got on the couch. His arms look just as impressive as Oikawa's drunk memories told him, and this is the most annoying thing. 

Probably sensing Oikawa's stare, Hinata turns his head before opening his eyes, waking up slowly. 

"Good morning," he says, groggy, eyes still closed.

"Morning," Oikawa says. "How much do you remember from last night?"

This is the axis which Oikawa's pride hangs. Maybe Hinata barely remembers anything, either.

"Oh," he says, sitting upright slowly, rubbing at his eye. "Everything, basically. I didn't drink that much."

"I see," Oikawa says, humiliation creeping up his gut. 

"Sorry, I don't know how much you remember – you were pretty out of it," Hinata smiles, rustling his hair, shaking it back into shape. He looks as though he expects Oikawa to have enough good humor to laugh at himself just now. Maybe in a week. With Iwaizumi. Hinata's expression sobers quickly. "You asked me to stay over – nothing happened!" Hinata says, misinterpreting Oikawa's look of horror. "I just wanted to make sure – nothing happened – I mean, you were really drunk."

"Thanks for your concern," Oikawa forces out. 

If Oikawa was a creature driven only by instinct, at this point he would proceed to screech and hit at Hinata until he left his apartment. But he's not. He's a man. And as a man he has to very graciously show his thanks for Hinata's gesture of helping him home, and ensuring he didn't die of alcohol poisoning, and not even taking advantage of Oikawa's invitation to stay the night, which considering Oikawa's last memory, probably was not as innocent as Hinata said. 

He makes Hinata breakfast, and glares at him as he eats. 

_How much do you know?_ Oikawa wants to demand, watching Hinata's cheeks bulge out with food. He wants to crack open Hinata's head and peek inside to see everything Oikawa let get sucked up inside there. Was he actually crying? Did he _cry_??

"I told you about my contract?" Oikawa asks, because he really does have to know.

"Yeah," Hinata says, voice going soft and sympathetic. "Kageyama told me about it, too. He said you lost your mind."

Oikawa's glare turns murderous. 

"I mean, I would too, though!" Hinata says. "If I were you."

"Right. And how did you react when that happened to you?" Oikawa asks, desperately needing an upper-hand.

"Oh," Hinata says. "I donno, really – I mean, it was bad, but not like – screaming at open practice bad. But I was too short to play volleyball." 

Oikawa grimaces, regretting the question now, because he does not want to hear about this, the grim, miserable end of Hinata's career. 

But Hinata continues, and Oikawa realizes he's talking about the beginning. 

"And my junior high school didn't even have a team," Hinata says. "And in university I was in reserve all my first year. And, uh. The person I liked. Didn't like people like me."

Oikawa narrows his eyes. Hinata doesn't seem like the type for a pity party, and indeed he's speaking more thoughtfully than anything else.

"But, uhm. You – wanted to play volleyball, so you played volleyball," Hinata says. "And you wanted – girlfriends, so you got girlfriends. It's just happened that way, right? You're smart, too, right? You got good grades?"

Oikawa has given up guessing. "What's your point?"

"I think you're scared," Hinata says. "Of not getting what you want."

"Excuse me?"

Hinata flinches, shoulders going up, a more composed version of the full body flailing he did in high school. "I know what it's like to not play volleyball. To not get what I want. You don't, and I think that – literally scares you. Like the world is gonna end or something, and you can't do anything about it, so – it's not _just_ bad, it's scary. So, if that was me, I think I probably would've lost my mind, too."

"Well," Oikawa says, barely holding in that screeching creature chanting _Get out, get out, get OUT, GET OUT_. He's gripping the sides of his kitchen table tight, and seriously has to resist the urge to flip it. "I'll think about that. And thank you for all your help, but I have plans later today, so I'll need to start getting ready soon."

"Right, okay," Hinata says, picking up the hint quickly, taking three, fast, huge bites, then nodding, standing from the kitchen table. "We should play together later, though!"

"We should," Oikawa agrees, like a polite man, and not the creature that wants to rip his own hair out if it would get Hinata to _go_. He slams the door shut behind Hinata once he finally steps through it, and then storms back to bed, where he lays, angrily, blanket pulled up to his chin, wide awake.

~

 **Hinata** :  
Up for some volleyball??

Oikawa stares, disgusted, at the message that pops up on his phone early in the afternoon the next Friday. They must have exchanged numbers during one of the mystery moments of black in his memory, like idiots. 

He types out a polite but firm _no._

But it's been a week, and Oikawa has replayed the conversation that happened several times in his shower since then, and feels like he deserves a rematch. He retypes his answer.

 **Me** :  
Sure.  
Same gym?

 **Hinata** :  
Yeah!

Hinata texts a time and directions, and Oikawa shows up early. It's the first time he's gone to the gym with the express purpose of practicing volleyball in over a month – while sober. He decides he's not going to stay long as he waits for Hinata to show up.

He's ready for a fight, but Hinata comes through the door like a wave of gorgeous sunshine, and this proves difficult. 

"You were pretty good even wasted," Hinata says. "So I'm really looking forward to this!"

"Right," Oikawa answers, voice mean, but it makes him feel like some sort of surly, angsty teenager, especially when Hinata doesn't react to it, simply going to get the balls they'll be needing, and suddenly the fact that this is the person who rehabilitated the Tyrant King Kageyama isn't all that surprising. Taking a breath, Oikawa decides to take the mature, rational path. "It wasn't your place to comment on my character like that."

"Like that?" Hinata says, blinking in surprise. 

"Before. In my apartment."

"Oh," Hinata says. "Sorry, then."

They look at one another another beat, and Hinata spins the ball in his hand impatiently. 

"You don't know anything about me," Oikawa continues, even though he already got his apology. He wants Hinata to take it back. Swallow his words. Eat crow. "That entire thing was just one huge assumption – "

"Yeah," Hinata says. "But if you don't like what I said, you can just ignore it?"

Oikawa bites on his tongue. 

"I guess I could," he says.

Hinata grins, tosses the ball up into the air, and serves it toward Oikawa, who again reacts on instinct, dropping into position and receiving. 

He wants to leave after that, he's said his piece and Hinata's said his, but the feel of the ball against his forearms, launching into the air in that perfect arch, is seductive, and really it's impossible to keep a sour mood while practicing with someone like Hinata. He never seems to grow tired of spiking one of Oikawa's tosses, and really the display of athleticism is even more impressive from this side of the net. 

Despite his best efforts, Oikawa leaves the gym exhausted and in a surprisingly good mood. 

~

 **Hinata** :  
Up for some volleyball??

Oikawa looks at this message with some suspicion. It's Friday again. He had been planning on having a fun night out, more fun than most to make up for last week. Surely Hinata has better things to do with his Friday afternoons, as well. But he did have a good time, enough that he even almost considered going to his old university for open practice during the week. Even before the Event that got his contract canceled, it had been a while since volleyball was so purely – fun.

 **Me** :  
Sure.

 **Hinata** :  
:D

~

It's the forth Friday in a row that Hinata brings a friend. 

It was a landmark practice anyway, because it was the first week Oikawa had allowed himself to actually look forward to it when he woke up, rather than carefully pretend throughout the day that he has better things he could be doing, and he might not even end up agreeing to go.

Hinata's friend is a wing spiker from his rec league, and a big fan of Oikawa's. 

"Practicing with you is gonna be like, the highlight of my year!!" he says, shaking Oikawa's hand and bowing at once.

This is nice, but Oikawa is vaguely annoyed. It's only once they start, and Hinata has to split his attention between the two of them, that he figures out that it's because he feels _intruded upon_. This is _his_ practice, _his_ time with Hinata. 

He's in a grumbly mood as practice ends.

"Something wrong?" Hinata asks, watching him tug off his sneakers.

Oikawa glares at him, wondering how this happened, how slow the creep must have been. He grumbles something vague about how it wasn't much of a practice with an amateur being there.

"Oh," Hinata says, considering it seriously. He looks over the empty gym, then back to Oikawa. "… Wanna go get something to eat?"

~

Oikawa finds out that movers aren't Hinata's only job. It was his first job when he moved to Tokyo, and his old bosses, or, as Hinata would say, his "old friends" will sometimes call him for an extra hand when they're short staffed.

His primary source of income is the pension plan that came from his time on the Sunbirds, and he keeps the same strange schedule as Oikawa. His time with Hinata starts spreading, from exhausting Friday afternoon practices to afternoon practices and dinner afterward, then just dinner on Saturday, then lunch – then Hinata has a beer he thinks Oikawa would like, and Oikawa tells him to come over, and he'll give it try. 

The beer is not so good, but the company is good. 

Hinata lifts his arm, putting it over the back of Oikawa's couch, and Oikawa's eye catches a very distinct shade of blue against Hinata's skin peeking out over the edge of his tanktop. 

Oikawa chokes, literally having to bend over, coughing heavily.

"What? What's wrong?!" Hinata asks.

"You – " Oikawa has to lower his voice from a shout to a hissed, horrified whisper. "You have a _tattoo_!?"

Hinata's expression falls and he slaps a guilty hand on his flank, just under his armpit, where the – _the tattoo!!!_ hides under his shirt.

"I got it in the states," Hinata says. "It was – you know. Right after I got the news a-about. uh. The trade. It came in after the international showcase – "

"Let me see," Oikawa says, equally horrified and fascinated. 

Hinata pulls his shirt up over his head. Lifts up his arm. It's, of course, a volleyball, and a very American looking tattoo; simplistic and stylized, and just one color, that distinctive blue/black. Non-threatening. Oikawa peers closer, fascinated, a pulse if excitement in the taboo growing. It's oddly flattering, as well, emphasizing muscles there in Hinata's flank, the masculine ridges of his chest and ribs. 

He's reaching out to touch before thinking about it, the warmth of Hinata's skin bringing him back to himself and he quickly pulls away.

"It's alright," Hinata says, grinning around his arm, looking incredibly pleased with himself. He probably doesn't get to show this off very often.

Oikawa traces one of the lines of it slowly.

"I have another one," Hinata says, still grinning. "If you wanna see."

Of course Oikawa wants to see – but this one is a little more embarrassing. 

Considering everything, Oikawa's history and their history in particular – they were both clearly attempting to pick each other up at first Oikawa is sure of that now – they're both surprisingly bashful about it. 

Hinata is just showing him his inner thigh, but this close his shorts do a poor job of hiding the shape of his cock, even some of the hair nestled at the base.

Oikawa swallows. This time spent together as friends has made seeing this far more charged than he was expecting. 

"A crow," Oikawa says, once he focuses on the black silhouette tattooed onto Hinata's thigh. "Adorable."

Oikawa's hands flex where they're sitting his lap, politely, and Hinata grins. "What, you don't want to touch it?"

Oikawa wasn't planning to. In fact, he thinks that would be a terrible idea, but Oikawa is nothing if not a brat.

"If you don't mind," he grins, and watches the amusement drop from Hinata's face as he brings his hand toward the much, much smaller tattoo, rubbing his thumb over it. Hinata's flesh is warmer, here. Softer, as well, worryingly close to the crease where his thigh meets his hip.

"Uhm – !" Hinata jerks away, yanking his leg back into his pants. "Anyway."

"Anyway," Oikawa echos. 

"I wasn't with Karasuno anymore, when I got it, but." Hinata says. "If you had to get one, which would you get?"

The question makes very little sense, but Oikawa has spent enough time with Hinata to know what he's asking. "Aoba Johsai tattoo. If I had to pick."

"Exactly!" Hinata says, and is smiling again, as though Oikawa hadn't understood as soon as he saw the thing. "Would you ever?"

" _No,_ " Oikawa says. "And if you had any sense you'd get yours removed. But."

"But."

"You don't."

"Nope!"

"You really are awful," Oikawa says. He thinks Hinata might be the worst. Iwaizumi was pretty bad – Iwaizumi had the same sort of thoughtless ability to meet Oikawa where he was most tender, but he was driven by a burning righteousness to drag Oikawa where he ought to be. There was a comfortable give and pull in that – Oikawa could resist, and hold on to the illusion that he was just going along with whatever and whatnot to make Iwaizumi happy.

Hinata doesn't do that. Hinata just meets Oikawa, there, in the tender creases, and just. Sits. Just watches. Just knows and understands. What Oikawa does about it is squarely at Oikawa's feet, always, and Oikawa can't pretend otherwise. It's a far more effective way of getting Oikawa to be accountable for his actions and thank the sun and stars Iwaizumi never realized it.

What a pain.

He's grinning, though.

~

Oikawa likes fucking and being fucked. It all depends on his mood, and his partner, and what he's eaten that day. 

Hinata is short, and his ass is easily in the top ten of Oikawa's perspective partners. Oikawa hasn't been _set_ on fucking him, but it's been the general line of thought.

That night, he dreams of Hinata pushing him back onto his bed. Hinata's hands, the shape he's familiar with from that night, that first night, holding him where he wants, and fucking him. 

He wakes with a blush on his face, and his hand groping awkwardly toward his cock, trying to jerk off through the blanket and boxers he wore to bed. He rolls over and jerks off in earnest, continuing the scene, so aroused he can feel his heart beat in the tips of his fingers and the throb of his dick, working it hard, imaging Hinata driving into him – so hard – he'd have so much energy – shit.

Oikawa comes, biting on his lip, breathing hard through his nose. He barely reaches over for a sock to clean his hand before passing back out.

The energy of the dream lingers into the next day, and maybe Hinata had a dream of his own because he seems to be feeling it too, and when they brush hands when walking together in the hall, they both blush and jerk away, like teenagers.

"We were going to fuck that first night," Oikawa says.

"No way," Hinata says, to his surprise. He sounds amused and this cuts deeper than Oikawa was expecting. 

"Why not?" 

"You were _so drunk_ ," Hinata says, then catches Oikawa's expression and hurries to elaborate. "I mean, I wanted to – really bad, _really_ bad, you looked… good."

" _Looked_ ," Oikawa scoffs, offensive shifting from genuine to play.

"Look," Hinata corrects, with a smile so affectionate Oikawa has to look away from embarrassment. 

"Mm," he says. He gaze lands on the beer in his hand, the leftovers from what Hinata brought over the day before. "Neither of us are drunk now, though."

"… No," Hinata agrees. His expression goes very serious. He watches Oikawa carefully, waiting for him to take it back, or give a smile that will say he was only teasing. 

Oikawa just takes another sip of the beer in his hand.

He expects Hinata to be upfront about this sort of thing – he is about everything else – he doesn't expect him to wrap his hand around the can, pulling it from Oikawa and putting it on the side table. He watches Oikawa another beat, then surges forward in a kiss. 

Oikawa had prepared for this. He had a long, lazy morning of fucking himself with one of his toys, then cleaned himself out in the optimistic hope of something real progressing in the afternoon. 

He's glad for it, even feels smug when he sees Hinata's expression of open mouthed surprise when Oikawa straddles his lap, and slips down onto his cock, a good, thick size, enough that the stretch has some burn to it, enough that Oikawa will have to adjust, slowly, arching his back as he does and groaning low in his throat, Hinata's hands traveling up Oikawa's thighs in wonder. 

"Wow," he gasps, then tilts his own head back, moaning loud as Oikawa moves up, then down, using him the way he likes best, heavy, greedy drops of his hips for more.

When Hinata comes he digs his nails into Oikawa's flesh, jerking his hips up in hungry thrusts, strong enough for Oikawa to actually bob helplessly for a moment, and the sudden shift, the surprise of Hinata's actual strength, is enough to push Oikawa over with a startled cry.

They lay there in a companionable silence. It should feel like a shift, like they've crossed some line together, but honestly all Oikawa can think is _finally_.

"Wow," Hinata says again, staring at the ceiling, looking dazed, before turning his smile back on Oikawa. He's giddy. It makes Oikawa feel a strange mix of proud and humble. 

Their evenings shift from spending time on the couch, to occasionally drifting to Oikawa's bed, where they'll fuck, then sit on their phone for hours, and show one another especially noteworthy pictures of cats. 

They're in Oikawa's bed one Sunday afternoon when Hinata's phone buzzes with a new text. 

"Oh – hey, it's Kageyama!" Hinata says, beaming. 

"What's he want?" Oikawa asks, without bothering to lift his chin from his chest. 

"He's saying thanks," Hinata says. "Cause I wished him a happy birthday."

"… Isn't his birthday in December?"

"Yeah," Hinata says, texting back. "But he always gets a lot of texts for his birthday and it freaks him out a little. Takes him a while to respond."

Hinata is only pleased, humming away as he responds. Oikawa pauses, considering his figure. Hinata is tailoring himself to Kageyama's need. Doing it effortlessly. It clearly makes him happy to do it, and Oikawa knows this specific smile. He's seen it before, directed toward himself. 

How often does he do this for Oikawa?

"… What?" Hinata asks.

Oikawa shakes his head, frowning hard. He doesn't even know what he's annoyed about. That Hinata is nice to other people? No, that Hinata has been humoring him without his knowledge, and doing it so well he has no idea when it happened or if it even did happen, but he's _pretty sure_ it did, and verbalizing any of this would make him sound certifiably paranoid. 

"Nothing."

Hinata frowns at him, then sets his phone aside. 

Oikawa watches him with cagey suspicion, but this doesn't stop Hinata's slow approach. 

Hinata's eyes are the bright, focused things that made Oikawa call him a _hungry little beast_ back in school, only this time it's a different sort of victory he's after, and Oikawa leans back in a surrender he doesn't realize he's giving until Hinata is on all fours above him. 

There's a pause, their faces inches from each other, then Hinata surges forward, capturing Oikawa's mouth, kissing with the same sort of rabid, intimidating energy Oikawa is well familiar with by now, and he moans into it, wrapping an arm around Hinata's neck and pulling him down, until Hinata's full, heavy weight drops onto his chest. 

It's such a good distraction that it's not until Oikawa is panting, stretched and throat raw, that he realized. 

The fucker did it _again_.

~

He's at Iwaizumi's house – his childhood home. Iwaizumi's mother always intimidated Oikawa, so he doesn't say anything when the V League game starts on the television. 

It's his old team, and they're playing for the cup. Oikawa hasn't been keeping up with their season at all, and there might be an element of bitterness there, but truly it's just raw, aching hurt. He doesn't want to see it. 

But he can't think of a way to get the channel changed without making a big deal about it. He sits with his back to the screen, hearing the commentary like sharp blades slicing down his back.

Randomly, he wishes Hinata was there. 

Hinata might not realize what's on the television, though he probably would – but even if he didn't, he'd be a loud, pleasant distraction once Oikawa made it clear he needed one. 

He supposes, actually, he could do that now. 

**Me** :  
enjoying your friday?

 **Hinata** :  
Yeah!! Still at work tho  
next few hours  
you free?  
you wanna hang out tonight?

 **Me** :  
maybe  
i'm down in miyagi right now so it would be late

 **Hinata** :  
i can always make time for the grand king ;)  
just give me a time and place~

Oikawa grins down at the screen.

"See?" Oikawa's mother says, elbowing Iwaizumi's mother frantically. "He says he doesn't have a girlfriend, but _look_ at that smile."

 **Me** :  
my mother thinks I'm texting my secret girlfriend.

Oh. 

Oikawa grimaces after he sends it, not realizing what a loaded statement it is until he's reading it again. It says a lot. Like, a lot, and Hinata's dumb in some ways, but not like this. He's going to pick up on every single thing. 

Oikawa locks his phone, putting it away, feeling a little ill.

He realized, a little while back, that he wants something real, and lasting, with Hinata. The ridiculousness of this idea and the fact that it means a lot - _a lot_ to him, it's not something he wants to mess up – has kept him from even thinking about it seriously, let alone acting on it.

Hinata is kind to everyone, he's kind to Oikawa, and Oikawa knows he's probably just as kind to Kageyama, to his coworkers, to all his friends. Oikawa is likely not the person Hinata wants to place on a higher, more serious level. 

He gets two messages at once, his phone buzzing, then buzzing. 

Swallowing, nervous, he flips it over to look.

Two messages.

One from Hinata, but the new one is odd enough that it catches his attention. It's Coach Ito.

 **Ito-san** :  
Hey, Tooru. Maybe give me a call? We can start talking about a contract for next season.

Oikawa blinks at it, stunned. Still stunned, he opens Hinata's message.

 **Hinata** :  
Then tell her its actually your boyfriend :)  
if you want

"Tooru?" His mother asks, voice sounding distant. "What is it?"

Oikawa looks up from his screen slowly. "I just – I just I got some good news," he says, and not even he's sure which one he's referring to.

 **Me** :  
I don't think she's ready to hear the truth

 **Hinata** :  
lol.

Then, a few seconds later – 

**Hinata** :  
wait ok are we going out now

 **Me** :  
if you want

It's uncharacteristically indirect for Oikawa but his heart is already racing, he doesn't think he could handle saying it outright.

"What's the good news?" his mother is asking.

"Oh – uh," Oikawa says, switching to the conversation with his coach. "Head coach Ito just texted me to ask about the new season."

"Tooru!!" His mother gasps in happiness, covering her mouth. "Really??"

"Yeah," Oikawa laughs, and sends a happy affirmative to his coach without thinking much about it. The next message from Hinata has his full attention. 

**Hinata** :  
Yeah I want!!!!  
Dating the grand king???  
We're dating? You're my boyfriend?  
It's a date??  
Tonight I mean  
when you make it back to tokyo??  
we're going on a date??

Oikawa has been trying to reply to each message and finally gives up, laughing a little as each one comes in. When it seems like the rush has finally ended, he responds.

 **Me** :  
Yeah, it's a date

Ito's next message is to ask when Oikawa is free next – Oikawa could say now, or a few hours, or even the next day, but he has a feeling this date with Hinata might run long, so he tells his coach the day after that. 

~

"Think you'll end up moving again?" Iwaizumi asks. He looks a little apprehensive about this, which isn't surprising considering the event Oikawa turned it into last time. Frankly, looking back, Oikawa doesn't know how he had the energy. 

Oikawa shrugs. From the porch, there's a decent view of the city. On the porch, Hinata is struggling to cook kebobs on a mini grill Hanamaki brought over to try out, since his own apartment banned them. 

"I might as well stay the rest of the lease, at least," Oikawa says. Then he notices Iwaizumi's lingering stare. "What?"

"You look happy," Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa raises his eyebrow, and Hinata and Matsukawa shout with victory on the porch, finally lighting the grill. 

"That's probably because I am," Oikawa says.

Iwaizumi grins back. "Good."


End file.
